


Oppositions

by mcicioni



Category: Italy Unpacked (TV) RPF
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 20:30:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17453780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcicioni/pseuds/mcicioni
Summary: One of the definitions of "opposition" is "a difference that has distinctive features and produces meaning". Andrew and Giorgio discuss this notion.





	Oppositions

“Of course our on-screen friendship and banter are meant to lighten up discussions of culture, they’re part of a wider text,” Andrew says, taking another sip of his Aperol Spritz. It’s late afternoon, and they are sitting at an open-air café in the centre of Rimini, facing the symmetrical white beauty of the Malatesta Temple. The members of the film crew have gone swimming or, rather, splashing in the shallows on the overcrowded, miles-long beach.

“Text?” Giorgio frowns a little. “I thought _text_ was a posh word for _book_.” He narrows his eyes at Andrew, expecting condescension. “How can a television series be a text?”

No trace of condescension in Andrew’s smile. “A text is anything we read, yes. It’s also anything we watch. Anything that communicates something, that constructs a meaning through words, images.” He pauses for half a second. “And through oppositions.”

“Oppositions. In our show.” Giorgio ponders, then his face lights up. “Old versus new.” He chuckles and adds, “Italian versus British culture.” A mischievous gleam appears in his eyes. “Oxford and the Courtauld Institute versus the School of ‘Ard Knocks.”

Andrew gives him a sideways look and a snort, then grins mischievously back. “All right. Let’s play properly.” He lifts a hand and, when the waitress turns up, orders a bottle of chilled Pinot Grigio. “Every time one of us can think of an example of opposition that applies to us, he has to down a glass of wine. Loser pays for all drinks.”

Giorgio feels a small pang of anxiety; his School of ‘Ard Knocks joke was a little too self-revealing. But he declares himself game: “ _Ci sto_.” He leans back in his chair and smiles warmly. “Reserved versus extrovert.”

Andrew nods, conceding the point, and pours him a glass. “Order versus chaos.” He tries to keep a straight face and fails. “Present company exempt.”

Giorgio winks, drinks and pours. “Definitely exempt. Now … All-too perfect ... how d'you say, _starched_? Italian versus occasionally incorrect, colloquial English.”

“That doesn’t deserve a point. It’s not an opposition.” Andrew is delightful when he tries to look stern. Maybe that’s why Giorgio keeps teasing him.

“Maybe not, but it’s significant.” Giorgio taps Andrew’s forearm, bare below the rolled-up shirt sleeve, and beginning to turn pink under the sun of the Adriatic Riviera. He empties his glass, beginning to feel unsettled for reasons he doesn’t particularly want to look into.

They look at each other. Andrew returns Giorgio’s tap. “When in doubt, both players get a drink,” he suggests, and takes a long sip. They missed lunch today; their speech is getting slightly slower, more careful.

“Whose turn is it?”

“Mine,” Giorgio says firmly. It’s definitely not his turn, but they’re alone, away from the cameras, relaxed and happy, and if he doesn’t have the nerve to find out now, he may never have another chance. He swallows and blurts out, “Bisexual versus heterosexual.”

Andrew sits up, frowning, then slowly, very slowly, fills both glasses and leans back. When he speaks, his voice is soft, but quite determined. “Who are you calling heterosexual?”

Giorgio looks away, to the perfectly proportioned facade of the Malatesta Temple, whiter and starker now that the sky is turning deeper blue. Then he turns towards the handsome face of his friend and partner, which now has a touch of colour around the cheekbones.

“Oh,” he says, and drains his glass in one gulp – a criminal offence for a chef. “Not … not really an opposition, then. You win this one.”

Andrew hasn’t touched his drink. He takes one careful sip and appears to change the subject. “We could have an early dinner. Say at seven, instead of eight-thirty or nine or whatever late hours they keep around here.”

“And talk about oppositions all through dinner,” Giorgio beams at him. “I’m beginning to understand. Some oppositions are… either/or, that is, either you’re one thing or the other. Like dead or alive. But some are not. Like … well, gay and straight.”

“Some are on a scale. A continuum,” Andrew says precisely, and he does sound knowledgeable, about both theory and practice. “And _that_ topic we could … discuss after dinner.”

They split the bill fifty-fifty. Their shoulders brush as they set out, just a little unsteadily, towards one of the nearby restaurants.

**Author's Note:**

> All my thanks to darcyone for language suggestions and to colisahotnorthernmess for getting me into this abyss of depravity as well as being a wonderful beta.


End file.
